


What the Future Holds

by KorrohShipper



Series: What the Future Holds [2]
Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Steggy - Freeform, The Author Regrets Everything, Time Travel, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2020-10-13 06:07:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20577707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KorrohShipper/pseuds/KorrohShipper
Summary: “Steve," she breathed out, panic overtaking her every sense and thought.For some reason, still unknown to her, she dreamt of Steve dying.





	1. Chapter 1

Peggy always found herself in the middle of a green field, standing barefoot as the blades of the grass grazed her skin.

Her dream, without fail, starts with unbearable silence—nothing could be heard around her. Not even the whistling winds or the sound of waves crashing upon itself from the stream next to her.

There was complete silence, and in every second that passed, Peggy felt her heart hammer against her chest knowing what would happen next.

Nails dug unto the base of her palm, drawing blood and leaving crescent marks as she bit onto her lower lip. Peggy closed her eyes shut, unwilling to see the events unfold in front of her when a strong gust of wind blew against her—followed by the sounds of nature.

Blood pounded against her ears, itching just beneath her skin. Wind blew stronger, and Peggy could feel that she was no longer alone, as birds flew above her, soaring and breaking into the sky as they once did.

She wished fervently that it would last—but it didn’t.

Eyes still closed, a loud crash sounded in the distance, too far too affect her but still ringing and fresh to put out of mind. Peggy felt like she was back in the war, battling the elements and the Nazis in the front where bullets would ricochet and whiz right beside her, missing her head by mere inches. There a growing, nagging feeling that hung in her stomach, knowing what would happen next.

She hated how she knew the sequence, the unbearable silence to the sounds of war that unfolded over again.

Then, the sound of metal scraping against metal wafted, an electric zing stilled in the air around her as lightning blue filtered through her eyelids.

Peggy opened her eyes, fluttering slowly, and the green field she once saw herself in was now gone. Ruins of the land stretched on for miles, unearthed soil crumbled beneath her feet. She could feel warmth—not from the sun, but from a fire that burned near her.

The blue sky she once saw was now tainted, hidden by the clouds of grey, an ominous and sinister red glowed just behind it. No life lingered around her, only death and destruction.

Her throat felt hoarse, like she had cried her voice away when a raindrop fell to her face.

Knowingly, Peggy lifted a shaking finger to wipe it away and allowed herself to see her hand now stained with a sickening shade of crimson as the sky rained _blood_—

Peggy woke up with a jolt, a gasp dying in her throat.

“_Steve_," she breathed out, panic overtaking her every sense and thought.

For some reason, still unknown to her, she dreamt of Steve dying.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now, an awkward silence filled the room and Peggy could see the tension that locked on their shoulders, the wariness that settles in their eyes. “I want to know how it began.” Steve began, all of a sudden, his voice small and teetering closely to loss. “How Failsafe began.”

It was when Steve held up a locket when the memories truly came flooding back.

Her eyes glistened and her neck craned forward, hands outstretched to reach for the golden locket that was nursed in his all-too large hands. “Oh,” she said simply, voice soft and breathless. “I thought I had lost that.”

Ever the gentleman, Steve softly deposited the jewelry near her, his hands immediately withdrawing and scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. It amazed her how easily she could still see the young private who admitted to her, cheeks red, that he hadn’t learned how to dance.

“We, er, scouted around the facility in Brooklyn. Found these,” a medium-sized banker-box was lifted to the table just as Romanoff, the Black Widow, entered the room and plopped a number of files onto the table.

Not caring enough to look at the files, Peggy skipped right ahead to the box and lifted its dust-covered lid. An earthy scent filled the room, a distinct odor of dust bunnies wafted freely that almost had her sneezing.

The box held her personal items, ranging from a leather journal gifted to her by her father and a mystery paperback novel from a small publishing firm, to the intricate webbings of a worn sketchbook that was never truly hers to begin with and an empty, cleaned out vial that sat atop them.

In the corner, however, a crinkled but sharp image stood out, its edges already dog-eared. The photograph itself was still in pristine condition—Peggy would never let it be otherwise—as she pulled it from its tight confines.

Steve sucked in a breath and Romanoff gazed at it with her calculating eyes. The picture she held in her hands, gingerly caressing the sides happened to be of Steve.

Taken right after he had jumped on top of a grenade, a journalist managed to take the perfect shot of Steve Rogers, not Captain America.

Now, an awkward silence filled the room and Peggy could see the tension that locked on their shoulders, the wariness that settles in their eyes. “I want to know how it began.” Steve began, all of a sudden, his voice small and teetering closely to loss. “How Failsafe began.”

She sucked in a breath.

Peggy had been expecting the question, but she never anticipated the effect that it had on her.

“It was called Project Failsafe and I hated how it needed to be done.”

Steve stared at her blankly. If he had any rushing emotions in turmoil inside of him, he had done a fairly wonderful job at keeping them to himself. “As I’ve mentioned, it began in 1953 during the Korean War, just before the armistice.”

The bottom of her spine chilled and Peggy curved her back instinctively. She could still feel the cold that plagued her. “There was a great blunder at the immigration bureau. Long story short, I had to fix all my papers once again and before it could be finalized, I would not be recognized as an official founder of the agency. My husband, Daniel, however, was recognized in my place for the time being.”

A soft look of protest died as quickly as it flashed on Natasha’s face. Peggy suspected there was more to the look than it lead on.

“Our first mission came just before the armistice of the Korean War.” Her voice now thick, Peggy could still remember the cold and harsh winds of Pyongyang. “My husband and I were sent, officially, as war correspondents.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “_Unofficially_?” he asked, his tone dubious and hesitant.

“A source told us that the North Koreans were planning on a meeting with some Russian officials hoping to borrow a weapon—_an asset_—to aid their war efforts.” 

“You didn’t know what the weapon was; _who_ it was,” Natasha piped up, her voice void of any emotion that was worth noting. If it had any, it was hidden quite nicely. It wasn’t a question, not an accusation either.

But she nodded nonetheless. “No, we didn’t.” She confirmed and Natasha nodded understandingly. “At the time we had very little concern to connect Chief Thompson’s murder to the stint at North Korea.”

“What did happen in North Korea?” Steve shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his tone clipped and short, eager to get out of the topic. It was a miracle, how she managed to hide her surprise.

“The mission proved to be accurate. Daniel and I, we had to make a choice.” Steve winced and stared down. Peggy berated herself—the word was obviously still a wound that rang sore.

Steve’s voice was small, barely audible. Had they been outside, she wouldn’t have heard him. “I’m sorry.”

Romanoff flipped through a file and studied her intently. “You sabotaged the meeting. Agent Sousa didn’t make it out alive.”

A soft, sad smile played on her lips. “It was S.H.I.E.L.D.’s maiden mission. When everything went south, the top brass called us in for a meeting—they weren’t amused by the events, not that anyone was.”

“They pulled the plug on us until news of the Soviets rushing the atomic race reached us. President Eisenhower decided that he’d rather a botched intelligence agency back on the field than have the Soviets win the nuclear race.”

“Eventually, S.H.I.E.L.D. became invaluable and certain precautions were made to ensure its continuous growth and survival through the years.”

Steve found himself nodding. “Project Failsafe.”

She mirrored his actions. “Eisenhower called it a pressing issue of national security. He needed someone steady and dependable to head the organization—and like great a many things, it began with Howard overreacting.”

At that, Steve stifled a small smile. “How?”

Peggy searched at the base of his hairline and found a tinge of gray peaking out among the browning strands. “He lamented about becoming old, you see and in true Stark fashion,” even Romanoff cracked a smile, “Howard decided on creating the fountain of youth—or Project Failsafe, as we call it.”

In front of her, Steve and Romanoff glanced at the papers and the files. There were pictures of her and Howard meeting the president and more than one detailed report mostly censored out. It matched out.

There was this sense of palpable relief when Steve closed the file, his eyes searching hers for some kind of cosmic answer when there was movement to his side. Romanoff gave her a quizzical look, her lips pursed into a line that urged itself to break free.

“Why were you chosen to be the subject?”

The question seemingly poured a bucket of ice-cold water over her head. Her hand flew to her lap, where the locket remained. Peggy tried to say a word, anything that would remotely resemble an answer, but it came out empty and died out the minute she opened her mouth.

To her surprise, Steve stood up, the legs of the chair scraping against the floor of the ground once again, surely marring the linoleum. “Let’s call it a day.” He announced abruptly, giving Romanoff a significant look that probably meant more than it lead on.

“I’ll tell Tony about what happened.” Romanoff said in a calculated tone, measured more than it should be.

It was almost insusceptible, but Peggy saw the little nod they exchanged, the tight-lipped look they gave each other. There was an understanding that didn’t quite reach her, like a language that was foreign to her.

Natasha gently scooted towards the door. “I guess I’ll head in.”

Steve gave her a small, half-smile and a weak wave. “G’night.”

The metal door clicked closed, and soon, Peggy found herself alone with Steve.

He still stood in the corner, just ghosting the very spot where his colleague just stood. Peggy could just about feel his gaze lingering at her, like the heat of the sun warming her.

Arms still crossed, Steve sighed loudly, empty and bare. “You’ve been having trouble sleeping, aren’t you?”

Her heart raced—the red skies and the rain of blood flashed in her mind—but she managed to quirk an eyebrow. “What brought this on?”

Steve shrugged, half-nonchalantly. “The containment chamber—you just woke up.” His eyes were hooded, but she could still feel his gaze linger on her.

_Oh_, Peggy realized all of a sudden, the distance that was between them. The questions he asked.

“You woke up seven years after your death—your mind was hazy. It’s okay to be a bit. . .lost?”

“I didn’t run barefoot in the middle of a busy street, if that’s what you’re implying.”

Again, his lips quirked upwards, but there was a solemn heaviness to him. “Peggy,” he began softly. “Do you know what happened?”

“Well, Anthony has been more than generous in cursing at ‘_Big Purple’_, or whoever that is.” She added wryly.

A panicked, helpless look took form on his face and her stomach dropped. Peggy didn’t like the way sympathy was shot in her direction, like she was mourning for something she didn’t know she’s lost.

But Steve remained silent, unmoving. “What happened?” she asked, her tone sharper than anticipated.

“You said that Failsafe needed an override code, yeah?”

Peggy found herself nodding. “Precisely.”

Steve started out slowly. “Nick Fury gone because of Thanos—Big Purple?” he swallowed, his face pinched and voice strained. It was only then when she realized that tears glistened in his eyes. “There was a fight, and. . .we lost, Peg.”

“What happened?” she pressed.

“Half the life in the universe is gone—” the pitiful gaze made its way to her again. “I’m sorry.” The words rang over and over again, mocking her. “Your family, they were victims of the Decimation.”

Her voice got caught in her own throat. Peggy felt nauseous as the world spun around her. “I need to see them.” She managed to gasp out, the words barely croaking past her lips.

Peggy looked over to Steve, maybe to catch a semblance of hope, but there was nothing. Steve shook his head aimlessly, his eyes rimmed with glistening tears.

“I’m sorry. They’re gone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! 
> 
> So, it's still off to a messy start, but it's going to get much more coherent in the coming chapters (I promise?). The update schedule will be a bit more problematic, probably around once in two weeks.


	3. Chapter 3

When Peggy woke up, her heart was just about ready to burst out of her chest. Eyes wide and pupils dilated, she gasped out a word, a single name as a cool gust of wind from the vents breezed over her body.

“_Steve_,” the name died down on her lips as she tried to calm herself. 

_It's only a dream._

The room around her remained dark, only lit by a lamp on its dimmest setting. On her nightstand was a small rectangular LED clock, its red frame glowed but read out clearly 5:46 AM.

An involuntary groan escaped her as she fell back to the bend, her head resting just beneath the pillow.

Peggy felt like crying—it’s been a month since she woke up from the stasis chamber where her body received the serum that ultimately brought her back to life.

It’s been exactly one month since she began having the nightmares.

Everything began in an ominous, mirror-like trance. All of it felt surreal. Peggy knew it was a dream that she was seeing was nothing more than a figment of her mind and that it would end once she woke up but it never left her.

The dream haunted her, like a shadow that lingered on her skin and lived just beneath it. It refused to make it self unknown as it gnawed on her bones.

Peggy knew that trying to sleep would be futile—after every episodic nightmare that plagued her sleep that she had to yell herself awake, throat hoarse from the crying only to gasp out Steve’s name, there was no going back to sleep.

The bed sheets rustled from beneath her and her limb felt sluggish. Her vision was undoubtedly cloudy, and Peggy felt like her head could split into two with a massive headache as she swayed from one side to another, blindly waving her hands around her to cling to some semblance of balance she could afford.

Her feet padded along the cool ground and into the bathroom where the lights sensed her presence. Slowly and gradually, the strip bulb fixed to the wall brightened and Peggy saw, in the mirror before her, her own unrecognizable reflection.

Her hair was out of place and darkness circled around her eyes. How horrible she looked, Peggy thought to herself wryly, she felt about a thousand times worse when a knock came from her door.

Thinking it will go away, Peggy remained fixed on her spot, unmoving and silent, waiting to see if the unwanted visitor would leave.

Only it didn’t—the knocking returned with a vengeance, rushed and urgent as the sounds reverberated inside her room.

“A minute!” she called out, her throat straining in the slightest and twisted in pain. Her voice broke and the knocking came to a soft and gentle stop. Hastily putting on the first thing she got her hands on, Peggy made a beeline for the door.

The Clint Barton who stood behind her, looking expectantly at her as she eyed the console was far from the boy who was networked into her organization all those years ago, but there he stood with all the lines of grief and years on his face. "Come with me."

There was a small, lingering part in Peggy that anticipated for battle. The spy that could never settle down and retire had tingled in her bones and the way her fingers curled up, eyes wide and senses sharp told her one thing—she was itching for a battle, or anything that could be resolved under the mercy of her right hook.

It was, however beyond her wildest expectations to be brought into a small cubicle with enough space to fit a foldable desk and a compact computer with the Stark Industries logo bouncing around the screen.

When the lights above the small cubicle flickered on, showing a heavy stack of folders near the computer, Peggy found herself glued to the spot. “Agent Barton, would you care to explain as to why I’m brought here?”

Barton, unsurprisingly, shrugged nonchalantly. “Orientation.”

Unimpressed, she raised a brow. “I doubt we have time for an orientation when there are far more pressing matters to attend to.” Peggy stepped back and tried to leave the bullpen.

“Stop!”

Barton spoke up, his eyes hooded and lips pulled into a scowl. “I’m under strict orders that you review those files.”

“Is that so?” she asked coolly. “If you’re under the impression that you could stop me,” she scoffed, sharply and dryly, “you’re terribly mistaken, Agent Barton.”

Peggy turned on her heels and began walking away—

“Cap asked me personally.” It had been more than a week since she last saw Steve in that interrogation room. He was hardly around the compound.

The name struck a nerve from within her. Slowly, she turned around, just before reaching the door hall that separated the bullpen from the rest of the compound. “What of him?”

“Just give me a chance here, ma’am.” Barton sighed and all at once, Peggy could see the weariness that plagued all the Avengers. “We know you’re having trouble sleeping at night.”

Flashes of her nightmares resurfaced—the sky raining blood. Waking up, though not knowing how, that Steve was going to die.

“We have a crisis at hand—”

“It’s about your family, ma’am.”

That caught her attention. The fire that was long ignited in her had been doused.

It was in that moment, when the stoic bravado Clint had now melted away and Peggy understood that in that particular aspect, they both lost. “I’m sorry.” He whispered and slowly walked away, leaving her alone with the computer.

Wordlessly, Peggy moved across the floor and sat on the mono-block char paired with the desk. Instinctively, she grabbed the mouse and the screen lit up, showing a profile on her grand-niece, Sharon, with the painful and familiar red stamp on the upper left corner.

_ Killed in action_, the stamp read in bold red letters for emphasis. Words, it appears for all they were, managed to suck the air right out of her lungs.

The page flickered down, and she found a small description. Dusted, it said plainly and menacingly. It was as if the word glared at her, daring her to move as she clicked on the blue, underlined letters to shift the page to an Excel file.

There was a header. _Carter_, it read and just below it, redirected, _Director Peggy Carter_.

It wasn’t lost on her that the names that appeared on the file were all of her descendants. Her two children were listed on the top, a symbol fixed just after their name and a corresponding _DECIMATION CASUALTY_ written across.

Peggy wasn’t just in an orientation. She was in debriefing. The moment she woke up, she knew that the world had lost—she just didn’t know what it was.

Now, as she sat in front of a computer screen, reading the files of her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren as it listed them all off as a casualty of the snap, she couldn’t help but feel a pang of anger.

Peggy’s throat tightened and her teeth gritted—the titan Steve mentioned, the snap he kept wincing at, it had caused her to lose her entire family. All in one flick of his fingers.

She had been so engrossed in the file, in her grief, that she didn’t hear the sound of footsteps behind her.

“I’m sorry you had to find out this way.”

A familiar feminine voice that wasn’t nearly as apologetic as it should have been.

Peggy spun around in her chair to see Natasha Romanoff.

“Is it normal for you to lurk behind those in grief?” she didn’t snap, but not one fibre in her body gave a second thought to it.

“Only on alternate Tuesdays,” Natasha managed to quip, a small drawl to her voice and a hint of a smirk on her face. “But I make it a practice to guard the fossil collection.” She leaned in forward from her spot conspiratorially. “Someone might steal them, see?”

Peggy raised an unimpressed brow. “I take it that you mean both Steve and I are the fossils”

Natasha’s lazy smirk grew by a fraction of an inch. “Cap isn’t too warm with the nickname, but maybe you can understand everyone’s enthusiasm when it comes to well-preserved time capsules.”

Coolly, she brushed off the chair and stood up gracefully. “I suppose looking this good at such an age is an achievement.”

Natasha waved ahead of her, gesturing for her to walk ahead. It wasn’t lost on Peggy, the way the former assassin’s hands systematically went to her side, as if searching for something.

Unfazed, Peggy walked ahead, allowing to herself to lead the way out.

Their shoes clicked against the linoleum floor in unison and the silence was unnerving. Unable to hold it in, Peggy sighed loudly.

“You don’t trust me,” she said crisply. It wasn’t a question and her tone barely threaded the line that bordered from an accusation.

From behind her, there was an almost unnoticeable shift in footsteps, but a small pause that hung before the familiar pace set back in.

“It’s hard to trust someone you know for all of five minutes, let alone someone who supposedly came back from the dead.”

Satisfied in the banter, Peggy continued walking. “I was the director of S.H.I.E.L.D.” She countered with a tone.”

“Nick was the director of S.H.I.E.L.D., too.”

The bland, cream concrete walls now blended into glass partitions. Peggy took the chance to study the younger—older? —woman’s reaction. “And?”

In the reflection, clearly aware that she was being watched, Natasha smirked. “I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him.” At the wry answer, Peggy couldn’t help but approve.

“Well, as far as opinions go,” the hall started to narrow down, the familiar sound of chatter now filling the room as she walked closer towards a familiar stretch. “I think we’re going to get along swimmingly.”

Then, all of a sudden, a loud crash sounded from the other end of the hallway. Before Peggy got a chance to react, a door flung open and revealed Anthony, who eyes her warily.

In true Stark fashion, he stared down at her, as if daring her to blink. Peggy simply laughed and studied him the best way she can—his fingers twitched and tapped at one of his pockets, lips pursed into a fine line, and his right foot hid behind the doorframe, his back leaning against the wall.

He’s expecting her to make a break for it.

“You’re handling the future a whole lot better.” Anthony remarked lowly with an unmistakable pride that glowed. She couldn’t help but be reminded of Howard.

“Yes, well, I wasn’t stuck in a room made to look I never left the 40’s.”

Anthony grimaced visibly. “Yeah, that wasn’t Cap’s finest moment.”

A moment passed between them, a shared grief of sorts. “I’m sorry about your family.” There was a hint of remorse and guilt that Peggy didn’t expect to hit so hard.

“We’ve all lost, Anthony.” Peggy didn’t expect on the softness of her voice, or the tender hurt that she nursed, but it came out. Immediately, Anthony’s face darkened and his eyes were hooded—he had more than just lost.

“Well, that’s why we’re doing this.”

Peggy was ushered inside, and a flurry of movement greeted her. The room was filled to the brim with stacks of paper and what seemed like empty boxes of pizza.

The meeting room turned workshop held both Dr. Banner and Scott Lang. The four corners of the room had glass boards with equations.

Despite having spent much time with Howard in the past, the numbers and figures seemed to dance around like inconceivable rubbish. “Explain?” she prompted.

Unceremoniously, Anthony plopped down on a couch beside a mountain of pizza boxes. “Time travel.” Her godson said through a mouth full of food.

There were pictures of the gemstones—“Infinity Stones, Aunt Peg!”—and it glowed as the hologram featured them on the screen.

“You say that the titan, Thanos, destroyed them, yes?” there was a grim nod from Dr. Banner that confirmed her question. Her stomach churned and immediately, she felt like she was gutted.

Peggy lifted her hand and swiped across the hologram, taking note of the timestamps they planned to travel back to—until her eyes zeroed in on one small detail plastered at the lower right of the screen.

“The mission was supposed to happen last week.”

There was a pregnant pause from all over the room and no one spoke up. She tried to catch someone’s glance, but everyone kept avoiding her looks.

It didn’t take long for her to understand why. “Aah.” She said simply, nodding as it made perfect sense. “My presence here complicates the matter.”

Anthony rushed forward, his face twisted into a grimace. “No—well, yes, but not exactly.”

Dr. Banner spoke up too, and while Natasha tried to stop Scott from interceding but it all failed marvelously and the whole room resembled a noisy, upstart of a classroom.

“Oh, for crying out loud, spit it out, Anthony.”

“Well, the mission called for all of us—” he started trailing off, a lost edge to his tone, but a simple gaze fixed that. Anthony coughed and cleared his throat before adding, rather sheepishly, “We seem to have lost Cap.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “If Steve. . .Cap gets an out, shouldn’t I get one, too?”

“We seem to have lost Cap.”

Considering it was Anthony, Peggy found herself half-expecting for someone—admittedly one Scott Lang—to burst out and double over with an uncontrollable bout of laughter before wiping a stray tear from his eye and tell her, with the utmost American conviction, “_Gotcha_.”

But the laughter never came and Peggy’s hope that it was all some sort of massive prank pulled over her dwindled like a candle-lit fire in the wind. The people in the room were simply, in the plainest of terms, deathly serious. It left her with an unsavory taste churning at the back of her tongue and at the bottom of her stomach.

Ever since she was found, Steve’s presence within the compound had trickled from a great abundance to scarcity. And now, he was nowhere to be found.

It didn’t take a genius or numerous doctorates to connect the dots and deduce as to why he’s gone missing on the eve of a mission to bring back half the lives of the universe who had vanished away.

Ignoring the tight knot that had formed in her throat, Peggy held her chin up high. “Well, when was he last seen?”

Natasha stepped forward, a calm and stoic look now on her face, a large improvement from the grimace she wore just earlier. “About five days ago.” The AI flashed a hologram and it showed a clip of the security footage of Steve leaving at an accelerated speed.

“Do we have any leads?”

Clint reluctantly handed out a piece of paper. The familiar loop of zeroes had sunk in on her. It was a D.C. address, one she’s known personally. “This is Sharon’s flat.”

Around her, there was a collective understanding. No wide-eyed realization or small sounds of acknowledgement. She inhaled sharply—they knew it was Sharon’s flat.

It was at that moment she understood two things: whatever bond she may have had with the people of their past, she could no longer bank on it now. The decimation they had gone through, evidently, changed them beyond recognition and, the second, whatever shared hardship she had with them, it paled in comparison to the one they had with Steve.

Clearing her throat with a cough, she faced Clint, “When did you receive the order to tell me about my family?”

“A day before he left.” The phone was offered to her, and despite her immediate focus zeroing down on the message, another quiet detail hang by her eyes. “February 21, 1945. Any agent worth their salt should know what this date means.”

Natasha muttered a curse under her breath. “Bucky Barnes.”

“Exactly.”

At that, Anthony rolled his eyes and grumbled. “Well, that’s not fair. We all lost.”

Surprisingly, it was Clint who answered this time. “He lost more than that, Stark.”

Anthony remained glued on the walls. “We have other things to do.” He replied rather snappishly.

“We’ve talked about this—we _need_ to find him, Tony.”

“I’m just saying, if he doesn’t want to be found, then maybe there’s no reason _to_ find him!”

With all the rising voices and the heated words that were soon exchanged, there was one truth made clear to her now. “Agent Romanoff, gentlemen,” she began, voice crisp and clear. Every head turned to her direction. “Would you give me a moment alone with Anthony?”

Everybody slowly trailed out of the room, silent and wordlessly filing out to the exit until only the both of them remained. “You know,” she began, “despite how much you vehemently deny it, I do know you like the back of my hand. I practically raised you.”

“Not denying that.” He muttered under his breath.

“It’s true, you’re hardly denying anything,” she conceded before turning a sharp tone in her voice. “But you’re also confirming one thing.”

Smug, all of a sudden, he scoffed. “What? That I don’t trust you? That’s already a given.”

“No.” She replied coolly. “It’s that you don’t want this mission to happen.”

There was a deafening silence. There was a choked look that flashed on Anthony’s face for a fraction of a second before he rolled his eyes and gave her a cold shoulder. “That’s a lie. That’s not true.”

“You’ve held the search off for so long. You’ve mentioned that the mission calls for everyone and if someone so much as backs out, the mission is off.”

“I’m not saying anything.”

She harrumphed. “You don’t need to—you’re telling me everything already.”

“So, what I don’t want to bring them back!” he exploded, finally. Face red and chest heaving up and down.

His outburst was anything but the answer she expected, but she remained cool and collected, but whatever calculative hold she had in her eyes melted away into the familiar godmother she had always been. “What’s this about? All of it.”

“If Steve. . .Cap gets an out, shouldn’t I get one, too?”

Softly, she approached him and gingerly placed a hand on his shoulder. “No one is getting an out.”

To her surprise, it was Anthony who shook his head. “Isn’t he?” he asked pointedly, his gaze settling on her and it all suddenly clicked on her.

Steve leaving wasn’t his out. _She_ was.

“I lost the kid.” He breathed out and a part of her understood it. Peter Parker, a teenager from Queens. From the memory uploads, she could barely grasp the bond they shared, but from the shattered glow in her godson, it seems it was far more than just a simple mentorship. “I lost him and now I could get him back.”

“And now you’re more afraid of losing what you have for something—someone—you’re not sure you’ll get back.”

“I love the kid, really, but is it worth it? Losing Morgan? Pepper? Everything we’ve done to have a semblance of a future together?”

“Do you love him? The boy you lost in the war?”

There was no hesitation to the fierce protectiveness that flashed across his face. “I’d die for him.” There was hardly any stutter, not a single regret to his declaration until he sobered up. “But being willing to give up my life doesn’t mean I’m willing to offer up everybody else’s. It’s not fair.”

Peggy sat on what he said, for a short moment, before she clutched her necklace. “That’s not love, Anthony.”

“Did you just listen? _Bullshit_.”

“_Anthony_.”

“Get them back, yeah sure, that’s great. If you asked me just five days after the Decimation, I’m all for it—but I’m not the same guy five years ago, it’s all too different now.”

“If you think that love is some sort of tangible state of being that you could push back and replace, then it’s not love nor is it hardly something worth fighting for.”

A vein now stood from his temple. “I just told you that it’s not like that!”

“You’re not just fighting for that boy, you’re fighting for your daughter, her future—now would you have the decency to at least be honest about it?”

“I’m—”

“_Dishonesty_ isn’t becoming!”

Her godson waved his hands dismissively in defense. “_I’m scared_!” he blurted out. “There, I admit it—I’m scared out of my wits that what if it’s a hit and miss and I don’t get to bring everyone, him, back? I’m not ready for that.”

“Darling, no one is.” She said softly, crooning as her voice reached a tenderness. “But we can’t always live half-way. We need to take that leap of faith and hope for the best because, right now, it’s the best we can do. It’s what we owe them.”

“I’m not ready to lose them.” And there it was, the vulnerability she’s always seen in him, the inner strength that she’s always knew was bound to shine through. “I’m scared that if I go through with this, nothing I do will be enough and I am not ready to throw in the towel just yet.”

“And waiting for God knows how long will help?” there was no answer. So, Peggy opted for a different tactic. “What would your wife say?”

He gave a small laugh. There was obviously a short moment of realization, his eyes far off in the distance with a wistful look, like he was reliving a fond memory. “She’d tell me to stop, just do. Just bring him back.”

“And about Morgan?”

“She’d say it was for her.”

It was with his answer that she smiled, finally, with pride gleaming in her eyes. “_Exactly_.”

He sighed and sniffled. “I never cried.” He pointed an accusing finger, earning a short chuckle from her before the atmosphere fell serious again. “I guess that means we have to find Cap, too?”

She shook her head. “No,” she answered curtly. “I have to do this alone—besides, I know where to find that one.”

* * *

The sea of marble monuments dedicated to those who perished and vanished with the snap in San Francisco was the most inclusive one yet. It had been commissioned by the remaining chain of command of the government to commemorate those who were lost and to bring some sort of semblance of closure to those left behind.

But that wasn’t where Peggy took the Quinjet.

When Peggy stepped out of the aircraft, she was immediately greeted by an empty Brooklyn that seemed so foreign to her. The New York of her day had never been this quiet. There was a life that continued to thrive and bustle deep into the heart of Brooklyn that refused to be doused. It was, in the darkest of times after the end of the war, a small comfort to her even.

That while Steve Rogers may be gone, there will always be a small part of him that will live on in the brick walls of the Brooklyn tenements or the little sketches of Central Park.

But now. . .there was simply nothing. A great emptiness that scoured the lands like a plague.

Peggy felt sick to her stomach, she wanted to empty her stomach and wretch her guts out but she remembered that she went to Brooklyn with a cause.

It was only there, in one of Brooklyn’s older cemeteries, that she found a hulking man, standing by a grave broken down by time, silent and all alone.

“I didn’t think anyone would find me.” His voice was rough, like all that time when he had tried to drink his sorrows away in that broken down pub after the bombing. “Didn’t want to be found.”

“Oh, tush. We don’t always get what we want.” She replied crisply before heading to his spot, briefly gazing at the spot he had been staring at—it was another marble monument listed with names. “Now, if you had told me, I would have brought flowers.”

Steve shook his head. “Not allowed.”

Ashamed that it only occurred to her now, her tone dropped and she suddenly felt like an intruder. James Barnes was Jewish. “Were you there? When he vanished, I mean?” he nodded, clipped and short. “I’m sorry.”

“It felt like the train all over again.”

Peggy’s heart ached for the man. “How—”

“Sharon called me.” He winced and Peggy understood where the conversation was heading. “I heard her vanish, heard how her voice croaked and faded away.” Peggy couldn’t help but understand and mind the painful pang in her heart, knowing full well that she too knew of the pain as well.

She had, after all, heard Steve crash the Valkyrie.

“What did she say? A dance?” she teased to lighten the mood, but it fell on deaf ears and she too frowned.

“No. She told me to take care of her family.” Peggy reluctantly gazed once more at the monument and winced. “Your family, too.”

On the smooth surface marred the names of her children and grandchildren. Her heart ached to open the locket and show Steve, the faces of the children, but decided against it. Another day, she reasoned, would be fine.

Instead, she let him scoot over and sat down on a bench beside him. “Why did you run away, Steve?”

“I couldn’t face you. I failed you.”

Peggy shook her head. “Oh, my darling, you could never fail me.”

Steve smiled sadly at her and glared at the monument. “But I did.” He insisted softly. “I needed to protect the world and yet here I am, part of the ones left behind, those who were powerless to stop Thanos.”

“Why did you run away, Steve?” she repeated her question, much more urgently this time.

“Because I don’t know what to do anymore. I don’t know what I can do.”

“You’re going to get them back.” She supplied steadily, but she was only met with a steely gaze.

“That was back then. Things are different.” He stared at her meaningfully and shook his head.

_ I have things to lose now_, he seemed to say with his wistful glance before adding a much more defined suffering. _I can’t lose you even though I never did get you back_.

Instead, he breathed in deep. “I don’t know how.”

And Peggy wanted nothing more than to tell him off, that he was wrong. But much like Anthony, that wasn’t what he needed.

Instead, she scooted closer.

“Of course you do.” She took his hands. “But right now, you don’t have to worry about that. Not just yet, Steve—just hold on to me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right now, it's a bit slow, but it'll get there. Like the next chapter, yeah, plot thickens next chapter.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We’re going to get them back, Steve.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLD IT!!
> 
> Before you scroll any further, know that it's going to be real messy from here on out.
> 
> This chapter is short, mind you, but do not underestimate the mind-boggling mess it truly is. Read at your own risk.
> 
> You are now forewarned and the author will not be held liable for any strong reactions that may occur.

_ Peggy stood in rubble, like that bombed out pub in London after the Blitz._

_ Something wet had trickled from the skies. She raised her hand, letting her fingertips just graze at her skin. It was blood; thick, crimson blood. _

_ And there Steve was in front her, lifeless and dead_—

Peggy woke up with a gasp, her body shuddering with the nightmare still fresh in her mind like a never-ending horror that refused to leave her be. Like a personal demon that haunted her, even in her sleep.

The only comfort she had, Peggy found with great relief, rested on top of her shirt, a small but significant weight that glinted in the soft light of the moon as it filtered in through the blinds of the window.

After Failsafe, it was one of those possessions she had that she never really let anyone take.

The golden locket was dated. A family heirloom passed down from daughter to daughter, but for some reason unknown to her, it was her Papa who knocked on her door that very eve before her debutante’s ball in London. She could still remember the lingering softness in his gaze, pride evident and held, as he clasped the lock behind her neck.

And then Michael died, and she joined the SOE and became the British liaison for the American government for Project Rebirth.

Peggy could still remember the night before she left. She had a screaming row with her mother who was furious at her for calling off the engagement a week before the wedding. Red-faced and angry vein popping out, Peggy knew in her heart of hearts that her mother never did mean what she had said.

“_Get out_.” Amanda Carter once spat at her, a seething venom in her voice that matched a deadly calm of lethal fatality. “_I don’t have a daughter, get out!_”

She left the locket on her vanity, just at the trickling light of the new dawn. She remembered wanting to go back, to hold on to the last remaining part of her life that was normal—a sense of stability with Fred, a supporter in Michael, and the rarely-bestowed approval from her mother.

But leaving to make a difference—_a bigger difference that rang true to who she was_—was something she couldn’t deny both Michael and herself. It wasn’t long after her decision paid off with a mission to infiltrate a castle in eastern Germany. When she rescued Dr. Erskine from the Hydra stronghold, Peggy didn’t know it then, but it all lead to that one moment where she understood the undertaking in its full fruition.

When Steve Rogers finally got his chance to be recognized, not as the soldier he could be, but the good man he always was.

The locket, had been in many ways, a very real reminder of her past. A past that once belonged to her and, Peggy thought to herself as she clicked on the side, releasing it open and dividing the golden necklace into two, a past she could still hope to reclaim.

The lights turned on and Peggy stacked up the pillows behind her back and settled into the bed, letting the lamp shine its light onto her face.

“Hello, my darlings.” She whispered to the photograph that remained inside when there was a knock on the door.

Rough and rushed, it was naturally Anthony. “Meeting room. Call in the shawarma, or cheeseburgers.” When she didn’t move to answer, he knocked again, more insisting this time. “_Let’s go_!” the voice faded away and she sighed.

So much for a pleasant morning in.

The covers unfolded and she momentarily shivered against the cold, but she recovered just as quickly and finely. Peggy’s fingers moved to close the locket, but her hands remained still, a great pause taking over her body.

While the world outside her door now woke up and is alive with a buzzing energy that refused to lay down or stay dormant, Peggy opted just for another moment in bed, letting her eyes linger on the photograph that remained inside the locket.

“I will never stop fighting.” She whispered low, caressing her thumb against the frame. “I won’t stop until it’s made right again.” The words once told to her still rang clear, a promise yet to be fulfilled.

She’d see it through.

“I promise I’ll never stop.” Peggy closed the locket finally, but her mind still rested on the image that now she kept safe around her neck.

A family portrait remained in her thoughts: to the far right was a small girl, biggest ears she’s ever seen and immediately thought she was her father’s daughter—Peggy’s heart continued to ache at the fact that she never met Daniel—and a small boy to her left, hiding behind her left with a shy frown.

She sat in the middle, a wide smile on her face, and in her arms a squirming bundle which she beamed upon. Her husband stood just behind them. The photographer managed to catch them ill-prepared, It was all very candid.

Little Michael all but glared at the camera, while she cooed at the baby, Chester, as he was on the verge of crying his lungs out in the open. Angela was happily conversing with her husband, who sported an indulgent smile, almost like a promise that, when it’s all over, they’ll go out for some ice cream or hot dogs from Nathan’s at Coney Island. Peggy cracked a smile as she studied the photograph, chances are hot dogs and ice cream will ruin the children's dinner but that was how he was as a father. 

Their children had him wrapped around their tiny fingers and knew just how to make him do their bidding.

There was an insurmountable ache now. It was her family, and she was at the verge of losing them altogether. Whatever forces that conspired to lead her here, in the future after Failsafe, it was evident what she needed to do.

Out of reflex, she lifted the locket to her lips and pressed a gentle kiss just on the cover of the locket and whispered, like a reverent whisper, to the man who stood behind her in the photograph which, while black-and-white, she could so clearly picture the striking blue of his eyes or the dishwater blonde he shared with his son.

His face was still marred by the lines of age, but in his eyes held the light that made him younger, the light that gleamed as bright as the day she met him on the training field back at Camp Lehigh. She pressed a kiss against the photograph gingerly, now without the reverence but with a vow as solemn as the ones she took when she married him.

“We’re going to get them back, Steve.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Told you it's messy.
> 
> Anyways, next chapter will be next week/two weeks-ish?


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Yes.” She smiled tightly and primly, albeit tone far too dry to be anything pleasant. She stared at the rotten apple that stood on the table. Watch still glowing red. “Time travel. Wonderful.”

It was that proud gleam in Anthony’s eyes that worried her. “So, you know, Morgan and I, we were watching Back to the Future when she asked me, what if we displaced while we’re in the past?” 

He stood in front of the room, a satisfied smirk on his lips when he pulled off the once-veiled device he was presenting. “Strange once told me that there was one—only one—timeline out of the fourteen billion where we won.” He held up his fingers. “Any temporal displacement, may it be a causal nexus or paradox can shift to an unknown timeline.”

Steve, who sat across her, caught on and nodded. “Don’t mess up the past—stay in the timeline.” Anthony had an extra jump in his step and Peggy began to wonder just how many cups of coffee the man had drank before the meeting and pointed his index finger at Steve, a barely contained excitement evident in his eyes.

“Exactly.” A hologram popped up beside it and showed a wealth of text and information. “Enter the T-GPS.” Natasha curled her nose in a playful show of distaste but Anthony waved her off dismissively. “We can customize it if you want—Widow bites for you and icicles for Cap!” 

Unsurprisingly, no one laughed. “Tough crowd. Fine. Going back, whenever we’re going to travel to time, we have to minimize out temporal footprints. Think Eobard Thawne’s Gideon and FRIDAY combined.” Then, there was a glowing feature. “But that’s not all—we can never really prevent a displacement, not fully, so the tracker’s designed to detect any displacement outside our continuum.”

Dr. Banner looked conflicted with the explanation while Natasha gazed with a burning intent on the hologram. “Outside?” she mused.

“Bingo. Travelling using the quantum realm implies breaking the dimensional barrier to get to the quantum realm. Using the earth’s frequency, which is, say, anyone with means to travel decides to try, travels back in time—“

“We’d be able to detect anyone other than us who traveled back. Someone who, in theory, could have followed us back.”

There was a moment of dumbfounded silence that enveloped the lot. Scott, however, broke into a grin and cheered, “Go, Director Carter!” whilst everyone gave her a wary look.

Her own godson looked like he wanted to press on the issue but whatever he planned to died in a gruff cough. Nothing much followed. “Exactly.” He settled for a singular word, a puff of breath and uneven, furrowed brows. But whatever quest for moving died prematurely when he turned to face the board and couldn’t help but turn right back. “How’d you know?”

_A dusty watch appeared on Steve’s wrist, one that she last saw when he first came back. It was scratched and cloudy with age, but the playful and comical print of stars and icicles remained visible._

_ It glowed a sinister red and her stomach dropped. He once told her what it meant—visitors from another place and time. _

_ Her brows must have furrowed because he chuckled and took her into his arms. “Don’t worry.” He said. “It’s probably nothing.” He lifted the watch so that she could get a better look. The watch remained red. _

“Peggy?”

The sound of her name jarred her back to reality and she snapped back to the moment, she realized that Steve was looking at her, concern evident in his eyes. 

Naturally, she smiled tightly and grabbed the bottle right in front of her and twisted the cap right off. “One does not keep Howard Stark in line without learning to pick up his technical jargon.” She lied smoothly; not once, in those 48 years, could she bring herself to care much for the technicalities of his machinations.

The answer as to why she knew, simply, was because she’s seen it firsthand. 

Everything was already fine. It was perfect. Everything started to pick up, and it was just like how she imagined her life would be in the war—but the watch started making noise and glowed that ominous crimson.

“Temporal displacement, I guess.” Steve offhandedly mentioned while flipping pancakes for the children one Saturday morning—because her husband could never truly say no to their faces—and he told her, as earnestly as he could, that it was probably nothing.

But any spy worth their salt could spot the little anxiety that coursed through his drumming fingers, the wandering eyes that kept jumping from her and the kids, or the tighter than usual embrace he gave her that fateful morning when he left bed only to never return. 

He was her husband. Her right partner. Of course she could tell.

Steve knew. In those few days and little moments before he put on the suit and watch again, he knew.

He knew and whatever it was that came to their time took him away from her and her children.

Peggy itched to look at the locket that clung to her skin underneath her shirt. It was like a reminder, a grave remembrance that she had duty to her family to know what happened to her husband, to bring him home to their children—even if it’s just a body for them to bury.

Anything was better than the empty coffin they buried next to Sarah Rogers. 

The jump in Anthony’s step faded away and the gleam was replaced by a cautious and more suspicious look. “She’s right.” He finished with a huff before showing off the side of the watch. “Press this one button here to see the normal frequency of the undisturbed quantum realm.” 

There was a loud click and the watch glowed a calm, and peaceful blue. A set up of mangled wires and convoluted screens was Anthony’s next stop—from the depths of the drawers beneath, an apple was produced.

The tell-tale sound of fingers tapping against keys sounded as he typed rapidly on the computer. A growing unease hung in the air as they all edged closer to the end of their seats to see whatever it was Anthony was planning to do—“Here goes nothing,” he muttered under his breath, eyes now focused on the apple and his finger, rather dramatically, pressed down on a button. 

A set of vibrational beams emitted from the set up, hitting the apple before, in the few seconds that it was there, the fruit vanished into thin air.

There were a few calculations made on the computer. Anthony held up the watch by one strand, “I’ve sent the apple six to months from now, so fair warning, it’s going to smell real bad.” He said in quick and rushed tones that overlapped with the playful banter hurled by Natasha.

“Keep an eye on the watch.”

One of them barked but it didn’t matter. Peggy’s eyes were glued to the bloody gear the minute she entered the meeting room.

Anthony pressed on the key once more, and in a brief second, the beams emitted from the set up once more. The only difference this time was that the watch wasn’t a calm and peaceful blue.

It was that same bloody red that glowed dark.

Dr. Banner and Anthony exchanged triumphant smiles. “Time travel!” the former cheered.

_ Peggy woke up from her slumber from a great sting. She shifted from her sleep. She felt cold._

_ Her arms wandered to the side and met nothing. She frowned—her husband wasn’t there. _

_ Trying to sit up, eyes still caked with sleep, she settled with a sleep-laced, husky drawl of, “Steve?” _

_ There was shuffling from behind the bed. She couldn’t quite make him out in the dark shadows the early morning hours afforded him, but she could tell that he was dressed up. “Go back to sleep,” he said gently, love evident in his voice, but the rush in his tone suggested something else, something much more alarming. _

_ She tries to rise but her body resisted and protested. Her bones and body ached. “Where are you going?” she settled instead, body falling flat against the soft mattress that sunk with her body’s weight. _

_ “Out.” He said curtly, but he pressed a long and lingering kiss on lips, cupping her cheeks with his hands, stroking the little skin in between. His teeth gritted, she could tell, and he breathed her in and she could almost sense the desperation, like he was a man preparing to go off to war. _

_ With her eyes blinked closed, she could only feel the pulsating glow of red that came from his wrist. A soft vibration sounded once in a few seconds, the red light continued to flash. _

_ “What’s wrong?” something was wrong. She couldn’t move a muscle of her body._

_ And her eyelids felt heavy. _

_ “Steve.” Her voice caked with sleep and worry. “I can’t move.” _

_ “I know.” Her efforts to move stopped when he stepped away. _

_ She forced her eyes open and spotted, right on top of her night stand, her tube of Sweet Dreams. She didn’t leave it there. “What did you do?” _

_ Steve’s figure stood just across her, blurry, but a ringing feature was that his lips were red just the moment before he swiped a tissue at his mouth. _

_ “I had to make sure you won’t follow me.” His eyes and tone conveyed how sorry he was, but that didn’t change what he did. _

_ “You drugged me?!” she yelled as much as she could, but it wasn’t much, not when sleep tried to overtake her body.  _

_ “Because you can’t follow me where I’m going—“ _

_ “Bloody hell, Steve!” she struggled against the compound’s hold, but it had already taken effect.  _

_ “Once you fall asleep, the drug will wear out. By morning, you won’t have any trace of it.” _

_ “Steven Rogers!” she yelled, but it came out as an angry, tried whisper. _

_ “I know you’re angry—“ he had this crestfallen look like he had become a kicked puppy, “—I’ll never forgive myself for doing this to you, if it helps.” _

_ “It does not.” _

_ “But I don’t regret it if it means keeping you safe from Thanos, if it means our kids won’t be orphaned of both their parents.” _

_ The mere mention if their children rendered to a halt. She tried to not to picture it, the painful reality where she wouldn’t be there to protect her children. Where she would leave them alone in a world where enemies seek to destroy them. The bare thought of leaving them made her shudder—it’s a reality she hopes will never come to fruition. _

_ “Steve, what are you doing?” it was so weak that she had to wonder if he ever heard it. _

_ “Tell the kids I love them, that all I ever want to do is come home to them.” _

_ Peggy struggled, fought to kept awake because her husband—despite good intentions—was probably going to do something incredibly stupid and end up dead if she didn’t stop him.  _

_ “Steve, what are you going to do?” _

_ Her husband paced around, running ragged circles in their room. “He’s here for me.” He said, still not making an ounce of sense. _

_ “I’m sorry for making you put up with all of this.” He stepped towards her again, this time, pressing a short kiss in her temple, before gently nudging her so that her back was flat against the mattress. He tucked her in, pulled the blanket up to her. _

_ Tears fell on her face, and a strangled sob conveyed how truly terrified he was. She never once saw him like that. _

_ Trembling with fear, like a lamb driven off to the slaughterhouse._

_ “Steve, whatever it is—whoever it is—we can stop them. Just let me **help** you.” Ever since the encounter with Dottie Underwood, Peggy always kept a vial of anti-agents for the lipstick to render the toxin inactive. If only she could get to it in time. _

_ “You weren’t there.” He protested softly, like he was reciting a mantra over and over again. _

_ “Then let me be there!” _

_ “No,  **you **weren’t there. You’re not supposed to be there; I was, or I’m supposed to be.”_

_ Her head spun. She tried to make sense of it all but she felt her body slowly fail to respond. She could feel that if she just, for one second, closed her eyes, she would wake up only to find him gone. _

_ “You never died, or disappeared. You lived until I was found. But I never met him, there’re no records of him.” _

_ “Just let me help you.” _

_ “You already are.” He crossed the room, disappearing from her line of vision.  _

_ “Don’t you walk out that door, Steven.” _

_ “You are the best of wives, Peggy, the best of women.” _

_ “Steve, please, don’t do this.” _

_ The door creaked open and clicked closed. She fought, for that one short moment, but her eyes felt heavy. _

_ When she woke up, the sun was shining and she could already hear her children downstairs watching the morning cartoons.  _

_ She bolted out of the bed. “Steve?” she called out, but no one answered. Fear crept into her bones. She was still furious with him, angry because he had been so reckless. He had drugged her against her will. _

_ But she could see that whatever it was that drove him to do so was far bigger than she could ever imagine. Despite his flair for the dramatic theatrics, he was never for anything against anyone’s will. Whatever it is that has him afraid, Peggy knows it’s bigger than them. The fear that bit into him, it was something she never saw in him, not even when he drove the plane to the ice— _

_ The phone rang. _

_ It came from her office, a line used for official SHIELD business. _

_ Peggy ran as fast as she could. She slammed on the door and picked up the phone with a surprising aggression. “Carter.” She barked. _

_ There was heavy breathing on the other side. She was just about ready to hang up when the familiar, tell-tale, rough cough sounded. _

_ “Howard?” _

_ “Pal.” He said weakly and a thousand thoughts raced in her mind. _

_ “What happened?” _

_ “I’m sorry.” Her stomach dropped further.  _

_ No ._

_ “It’s Steve, Peg.”— _

“Yes.” She smiled tightly and primly, albeit tone far too dry to be anything pleasant. She stared at the rotten apple that stood on the table. Watch still glowing red. “Time travel. Wonderful.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will finish this story. Mark my words.


End file.
